


Outrun The Night

by HouseOfCrows



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Original Work
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon? What Canon?, Fanon, First War with Voldemort, Fluff and Angst, Granians, Hogwarts, I reject your canon and substitute my own, Light Wizards, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, Original Character-centric, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Purebloods (Harry Potter), Rise of Voldemort, and those who balance between them, canon compliant sort-of, dark wizards, if you don't recognize someone guess what they're probably mine, more original characters than you will ever know what to do with, that's just how this works, using canon for my own gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-04 22:29:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15850698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HouseOfCrows/pseuds/HouseOfCrows
Summary: Two boys from different worlds end up at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. One is pureblood, one is not. One follows the rituals and rules of a stringent world, one stands on the outside looking in. One knows the expectations required by their station, one seeks to throw them off.Set against the end of Voldemort's power and the devastation left behind as families try to reconcile and the Death Eater Trials are just beginning.Serious. And Seriously Fluffy. Also Angst.





	1. Chapter 1

_Outrun The Night: Chapter One_

 

Over the past five years, tensions in the Wizarding World had reached a fever pitch. It had started with skirmishes between the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters, and had ended with riots in the streets. Both for Muggle Rights, and then later the Pureblood Riots in retaliation. Throughout the upheaval, the Athertons had perched precariously between the two camps. Struggling for neutrality in a time that demanded action. Still, for the sake of their children and avoiding being drawn into open war, they had tried.

Now, in 1974, their second son Percival is starting his first year at Hogwarts.

~*~

 _Trunk, robes, wand, holster, Faust and his cage-_ the sudden weight of of a hand on his shoulder makes him whirl, and Percival flinches when he realizes it's only his mother.  
“Now, have you forgotten anything?” His mother’s voice grates on him, shocking him out of his repetitive litany even though she’s trying to be kind. The Pureblood witch has sent one son to Hogwarts already, but Percival is her pride and joy. Where Bracken is brash and self-serving, Percy has learned to think before speaking, and to follow custom wherever he can. “Don’t forget, there’s always the mail owls, darling, and you shouldn’t hesitate to write us-” Percival’s grey eyes flashed in the early morning light as he looked up at his mother, sparing one quick glance for the porters collecting baggage and stowing it on the train. All he requires are his robes, packed carefully in an Expanded bag, shrunk down to fit in his pocket; along with a few galleons for treats on the train.

“I’m sure if I’d forgotten something mother, we would have discovered it the first seven times we repacked the trunk.” He was solemn for a boy of ten, but his older brother was leaning over to ruffle his already untidy brown hair, made more so by shoving his hands through it in consternation every time his mother stopped him from passing the platform to board the train.  _He was already eleven for goodness sake!_ He ducked the large hand and tugged his robes straight, sending one flat glare in Bracken’s direction.  
“ _IF_ I need anything, mother, I’ll write at once.” The tall, willowy witch nodded briefly. Of course _her_ son was capable. Megaera ran a careful hand through her son’s hair and nodded, drawing herself up to her full height of 5’5” and nodded firmly.  
“As it should be. Bracken, take care of your younger brother. And, this year, do try not to set anything on fire, hm?” Percival watched his mother turn and move gracefully through the crowd of parents sending their children off to the new school year. Her autumnal wine-colored robes swirling around her; the perfect shade and shape for the beginning of Fall. The consummate Pureblood witch.

Bracken leaned heavily on his younger brother’s shoulder until Percival shrugged him off irritably.  
“You know this means you have to do what I say,” he gloated, his dark hair and eyes a match for their father. Percival’s steel colored eyes only narrowed.  
“And you know very well that I will be the one upholding the family name while you goof off, Bracken,” he snorted, and strode in the direction of the train, trying and failing to smooth the mess that was his hair.

~*~

For as long as he could remember, Percival Atherton had known who and what he was. A Pureblood, the son of Purebloods, and the second son of a powerful and noble family. He had been raised within the welcoming open arms of the Wizarding World, and, even when that world lay on the brink of disaster, his parents had shielded him from the firestorm. Voldemort’s meteoric rise to power and the hells that had broken loose after; both personally and politically; had left the Pureblood world in shambles. And yet, as he followed the other first years onto the train to Hogwarts, he somehow knew that his world was about to change all over again.

~*~

Aren Wolff tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his school robe as they approached Hogwarts. His mother had overridden his muggle father’s desire to see him attend Durmstrang; _a strong sounding school! A very european, continental school!_ ; and had, instead, demanded he be allowed to attend Hogwarts. _After all_ , she had declared, _Newton Scamander attended Hogwarts, and his research paved the way for new laws concerning Beasts and Creature_ _s, and all_ _sorts._ And as Granian breeders, well. His work had directly impacted their family’s livelihood back in the 20s and 30s, and it was no different now. And what with the unrest on the Continent in the aftermath of both Muggle and Magical warfare, what better place for their second son than at the very safe, very **reputable** Hogwarts?

And so Aren had brushed up on his English, read a few books on English culture, and his parents had sent him off by ship to Merry Old England. Now that the castle was coming into view, all his dreams of attending the same Wizarding school as his idol Scamander, he could feel his stomach doing flipflops.

“Well. Cowards never accomplished anything much,” he muttered to himself, and tightened his wand holster where it lay strapped against his forearm and returned to his compartment to await their arrival.

~*~ 

As the train flew down the track towards Hogwarts, Percival found himself a compartment in the First Years' section. Thankfully, it was empty of other students. He knew that, in recent years, attendance had dropped off. After that muggle war had ravaged the country, there were less families inclined to send their children that far from home, to a boarding school. Many fled the country, fled Europe altogether. Those who hadn't tended to find some reason to retire to family estates and linchpins, taking their children and private tutors with them. He'd wished, for awhile, that his family would do the same. Instead, as time went on, he'd come to understand that Hogwarts was the place to be. Ancestral homes could be invaded, wards shredded to ribbons and the occupants dragged out. Even linchpins; the original Houses of the Sacred 28 and their near relatives whose wards only responded to blood relations and ritually adopted heirs; had their weaknesses. Percival took his bag from his pocket and returned it to its original size. No one would notice him performing magic; he was on a train to school, surrounded by other young witches and wizards. He curled up against the side of the bench, and pulled out one of his books. May as well burn the time spent travelling in research and preparation for classes.

Several hours later a knock sounded on the glass and he looked up, meeting the gaze of an equally young wizard with sandy colored hair and bright eyes.   
"Hullo... the other compartments seem to be full, and I'd like a bit of quiet. Would you mind if I join you?" Percival's eyes narrowed as he took in the boy's appearance. Clean and neat robes, well tailored if not of the best materials, and not of any immediately recognizable family. _Interesting._  He waved him in, returning his gaze to his book. The newcomer clattered around for a few minutes, stowing his bags and setting up across from Percival. He sighed and looked around, before pulling a slightly sticky paper bag marked with a "Bertie Bott's" logo.

 _Muggleborn or Halfer_ , he decided. _More refined folk shopped elsewhere, where quality and price go hand in hand_. _Still, if there was nothing else on the train but some trolley, he could allow how most First Years would enjoy the risk and the dubious hilarity of watching others spit out their candy_. He sniffed quietly, and turned the page in his book. _While he might very well be just another muggleborn, he might also have been yet another refuge from the continent. About fifteen years too late, perhaps... unless his family had come over and never returned_. Regardless, he was quite likely not to the standard an Atherton would take for a dear companion. He was slightly mollified, several long moments later, when the boy shifted awkwardly in his seat, and dragged a book of his own from his bags. _Well. At least the boy had some understanding of time management!_  

Not long after, the trolleywitch came by with her cart of treats. Percival bought himself a licorice wand, and a small box of sour fruit pastilles. The boy bought more beans and, to Percival's very great relief, no chocolate frogs. He offered to purchase them cauldron cakes, but Percival declined.   
"I don't much like the flavor," he said, peeling the silver foil from his box of pastilles. "But thank you anyone." The boy stuck out a hand, before rubbing it hastily on his trousers and offering it a second time.  
"M' name's Adrian. Adrian Macmillan." Percival's world screeched to an unrelenting and horrified halt. _**Macmillan.** One of the Sacred Twenty Eight? And he **ate** BERTIE BOTT'S BEANS and and... **sat** like some sprawling ungraceful  creature?_ He swallowed hard, shocked and horrified at the revelation, and took the proffered hand, re-evaluating his earlier judgments.  
"Ah... I'm. That is, my name is Percival Atherton, pleased to make your acquaintance." He found his hand gripped in a very friendly sort of shake, and most definitely not the elaborate, structured thing that was a Pureblood greeting of clasped forearms and precise finger placement. He made as if to say something, but Adrian rolled his eyes and lounged back against the seat, pouring more beans into his hand and snorting.  
"Oh please, don't. I get enough of all that from my father's friends. Anyway. What are you reading?" Percival turned the cover so Adrian could see, and settled back in for the long afternoon, feeling uncomfortable and yet surprisingly at ease with the situation. _Always another opportunity to learn new ways of interacting_ , he told himself firmly, and prepared to discuss the merits of 14th century wizarding textbooks with the Macmillan heir.

~*~

The castle looked even larger and grander from the edge of the lake. As they piled into boats in the gathering dark, lights sprung up around them and the boats started moving of their own accord towards the opposite shore. Aren tugged again at his collar, cursing the tie, and looked across at his boatmate.  
"I'm Aren, and you?" His companion pushed a hand through his hair before responding.   
"I am Percival Atherton," there seemed to be some implication that he should recognize the name, but he didn't. Aren cast about for something else to say, to drain the tension. Above them, the Castle was practically glowing with light. He jerked his chin in the direction of the many golden-hued windows.  
“Is it like the stories say?” he asked, his accent sneaking through despite his best efforts.

The placid brunette looked up at him, blinking a little owlishly as he put a book back in his bag and tucked it into a pocket of his robe.  
“Stories…? What stories?” Aren shrugged, fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt beneath the robe’s black sleeves.   
“The stories, you know. About Scamander and the Order, and well. I suppose... Well. The Lor-” Aren found a hand clapped tightly over his mouth and the boat rocked in the inky black water. The Atherton boy had lunged across the seat to slap a hand across his mouth. Before he could work up the indignation to peel it away, he dropped it again.  
“Do not say the name,” Percival snapped, “Do not _ever say the name._ Not if you want to get along here, foreigner.” He removed his hand and grimaced, wiping it on his robe. “No one who’s smart says his name… not even the one he had, before. It’s bad luck, and worse, you might attract the wrong sort of attention.”

Aren watched him slide down on the seat, and stare out across the water towards Hogwarts.  
“And believe me…. You don’t want **that** sort of attention.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have quite a lot of fics on the back burner right now but I'm out of steam and uninspired. So, taking a jaunt into one of my oldest and favorite fandoms to try and jump start my creativity.


	2. Chapter 2

_Outrun The Night: Chapter Two_  

Percival drew himself to his full height of 4'5" as the first years tromped up the stairs and approached the doors to the great hall. He was practically shaking with anticipation, his hand twitching briefly with the urge to release his wand from his holster and carry it. The school had only been attacked a few times in recent memory, and Gridlewald had been appropriately dealt with. Tom Riddle... Voldemort, as he was styling himself these days according to his parents... he had only been here twice within the past few decades. Still, to carry one's wand openly would be looking for trouble, particularly in a place purported to be as safe as Hogwarts. Somehow, as he caught sight of the tall, thin and grimacing woman waiting on the landing, he thought perhaps it might not be so safe after all. 

"Welcome to Hogwarts!" She called over the chatter, and eventually with some elbowing and shushing, the first years fell silent. She nodded approving, and carried on as though the pause hadn't even taken place. "In a few moments, you will be passing beyond these doors into the Great Hall to be sorted into your Houses. You must be sorted, before you can join your classmates." She raised a hand, forestalling any argument or outcry. "The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are in the care of this school, your Houses will be like your family. You will eat together, sleep together, and go to class together. Your triumphs will earn you points, and any rules you break, will lose you points." She lowered her hand and clasped them before her, eyeing the young students as they shuffled and gave each other knowing looks. 

Percival's shoulders tightened, and he forced himself to breathe. This choice could make or break his time at school, he knew, and his reputation once he left.   
"At the end of the year, the House Cup will be awarded to the House with the most points. The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly, please form two lines, and be ready when those doors open." As she turned and left, doubtless to prepare the way, the students began talking in hushed tones and jostling each other for precedence. Percival allowed himself to be moved to the middle of the line, content with waiting part of the sorting out. He knew that this class was a relatively small one, it seemed there were no more than thirty or forty first years clustered around him, and he knew that once upon a time, there had been class years of over a hundred. He didn't have long to think on it, soon enough the witch was back, throwing wide the double doors.

She led them down a long aisle, with many tables to either side and an enchanted ceiling with floating candles that shed wax and spread a warm, flickering light over the Hall. Percival didn't look up only by force of will. He'd seen such ceilings before, even if Hogwarts had a rather sophisticated one, in other Pureblood houses. Ones that showed pleasant summer skies or the stars on a clear night were quite popular in solars and informal sitting rooms... he bit off that line of thinking with a sharp aborted jerk of his head. The witch had been speaking, but he'd gone and missed whatever little speech she'd given as she unrolled the scroll she carried. 

"Althea Selwyn!" A small, narrow-boned blonde slid forward and accepted the hat. Nearly immediately, the brown hat shouted out  
"SLYTHERIN!" One long line of tables erupted into cheers as she oozed off, her magic tasting like oil on the back of Percival's tongue. He grimaced, and turned his attention to the next student, Althea's black-haired cousin Morgana. This time, the hat seemed to deliberate far longer. The Selwyns were one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he knew, but not much beyond that. Doubtless the hat wanted to put her in Slytherin with her sister, a matched set as it were, but instead the hat called  
"RAVENCLAW!" And the blue-lined robed students called a welcome to the new student. 

It continued on this way for what felt to Percival like hours, but even he waited with bated breath as the Macmillan heir strode confidently to answer the witch who called his name. The hat had hardly touched his head, before shouting to the entire hall,  
"GRYFFINDOR!" Percival couldn't resist a quiet snort. Of course the nonconformist Pureblood ended up in the rebel House. It was practically demanded. He didn't pay attention again until his own name was called and he was forced to answer. He could see his brother, waiting with the Ravenclaws, laughing and talking in stage whispers with his classmates, just like the rest of the hall. He sat carefully on the stool, hands folded neatly in his lap.

_Ah~ the new Atherton is it?_ The hat said inside his head. Immediately, Percival could feel his ears ringing with the feel of old magic. He winced, and nodded.  _Hm. You've a good mind, youngster. You've been devouring old, Dark books, haven't you? Your mother's doing it would seem. Your brother fought being placed in Slytherin you know, desperately wanted to find friends elsewhere._  Percival wasn't surprised, but snorted just the same. "As if I'd want to be nearer that brute. I'm shocked he didn't end up in Gryffindor," he thought viciously.  _Well, there are_ **some** _traditions your brother still follows,_  the Hat said wryly. _You don't want to be associated with the Dark Lord either do you? There are other Houses who would suit just as well. You could do the same, you know. Choose a different House._  Percival shoot his head, resolute. The only House he'd consider other than Slytherin would have been Ravenclaw. As it stood... _No? Ah._ **I** _see. You adhere to the Old Ways, in spite of recent politics don't you, boy. Hmm... very well then, little pureblood, very well-  
"SLYTHERIN!" _

Percival slipped from the stool and strode towards the far table, content. His ambitions led in different directions than some, but even he preferred cunning and applied wisdom to book knowledge, blind loyalty, or inelegantly aggressive behavior. Slytherin, though tainted by its recent association with Tom Riddle, still had valuable help and insight to offer him. His path might be difficult, but with a brother in Ravenclaw, he just might make it in spite of the political unrest. He sat and crossed his arms just in time to watch his boat mate ascend to the stool and accept the hat. 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" Now why was he not surprised? Percival rolled his eyes and turned his attention to his new classmates, watching carefully for indications that they shared his appreciation for tradition and formality, cautiously avoiding those who seemed more relaxed, like Adrian. They might take up politics later in life, but for now... it was better to err on the side of caution. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Outrun The Night: Chapter Three_

 

Percival paid little attention to the chattering of his classmates during dinner, preferring instead to divide his attention between the food provided by the currently invisible house elves and the head table. Several of the witches and wizards he recognized; including the more recently promoted Headmaster Dumbledore. Percival remembered some vagary about Dippit's "retirement" but had no desire to linger over it. The witch who had greeted them appeared to be the Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall. Appearing to be in her midyears, Percival knew her to be a Halfblood, and proud of it. She was also known to be an accomplished Animagus, a rare talent indeed. The first year spooned more of the starter ham and pea soup into his mouth as he considered the others. _Aurora Sinistra, astronomy, relative unknown. Pomona Sprout, Hufflepuff head of house and herbology professor... Also an unknown. Septima Vector, the Arthimancy professor; known only to be a relative newcomer and also stricter than even McGonagall, a real feat. Ah, and Kettleburn. What did he teach? Magical Creatures or something...? Care of something? Eh, he couldn't be bothered. The man was a lunatic, even according to Pureblood standards; and a Hufflepuff to boot!_

Soon enough the soup was whisked away and the mains brought in; choice of roast lamb shank or fish pie. Percival served himself a reasonable portion of each and did, at last, return his attention to the chatter going on around him. One of the fifth years, with a long nose and rather long black hair, seemed to be glaring daggers at the Gryffindor table. _Wonderful, more inter-house politics_. Percival rolled his eyes and took a healthy bite of the pie. From one sort of House to another in less than twelve hours.  _Must be some sort of record,_ he thought to himself. 

He caught the eye of an older wizard at the head table, and watched as his attention turned quickly to the sallow, dark-haired Slytherin boy. Percival made a mental note of it, and was about to return to his food when the student next to him elbowed him in the side.  
"Hey! Wonder what's eating the slug?" Percival inched down the bench, narrowing his eyes at the boy next to him. A rather pale-complected third year.   
"I beg your pardon?" The blonde rolled his eyes and reached across Percival for the gravy, and began to drown his pie in it.   
"Professor Slughorn, head of house, you know," the silver ladle fell back into the gravy boat with a loud clatter that was, thank heavens, mostly drowned out by the chatter in the Hall. "He's been eyeing Snape as long as we've been here. Problem kid, not the best home life, you know how it is with the muggleborn." 

Percival raised a brow as the third year began shoveling rather wet pie into his face and wrinkled his nose _. No manners whatsoever. What a complete lack of class. How...dreadful_.  
"He's really a halfblood, y'know," he mumbled, spraying crumbs across his plate and reaching for his glass. Percival just winced, not quite daring to look as the boy swallowed and gulped and swallowed again before returning the glass to its place on the table. _No napkin? No concern for others' comfort or his own dignity....?_ Percival felt ill, and only listened to his fellow Slytherin out of a combination of pity and politeness.  
"I'm...sure it's difficult. Not ah, having the best sort of circumstances to return home to-" he allowed, sparing a desperate glance across the table at Althea Selwyn. She, for her part, only spared him one withering, pity-filled glance before doing her best to get the attention of some chum at another table. _Trapped. Well. There are worse things.... perhaps...?_

~*~

Across the Hall with the Hufflepuffs, Aren was faring rather better. While his hybridized accent had drawn some strange looks at first, it wasn't entirely unheard of for families to have fled Europe during the reign of Grindlewald, or due to the more recent muggle wars. As it was, his English was solid, and he wasn't shy to engage his peers. It helped, too, that Hufflepuffs were perhaps one of the more friendlier Houses to have ended up in. The fish pie had reminded him of home, a little more strongly than he would have preferred, but the wave of homesickness was at least partially mitigated by the arrival of dessert. Lemon and berry bread pudding, and an ice cream made of damsons and clotted cream. It was so beautifully British in its presentation that he was, at least in part, reminded of how homely this new place might be. 

"D'you think the new Headmaster is going to give a speech this year...?" A cute redhead sitting across from him leaned in, her robes lined in bright, cheerful yellow. _Means she's at least a second year_ , Aren decided.  
"I'm not sure?" He offered, daring a look up at the head table and the arranged professors still lingering over dessert and what might be brandy. "Does he usually?" She laughed and patted his hand,  
"Oh sure. Dumbledore's big on the speeches. Wordy, that one. Still, bit better than dour old McGonagall. M' name's Lucy, by the way."   
"Aren," He blinked owlishly. She was quite different than the sort of students he'd met so far. Like that annoyed-looking Pureblood boy. _What was **his** name...?_    
"Well. You'll soon figure out, Hogwarts is a good place to be, so's as you follow the rules." Her green eyes sparked with mischief as she leaned in conspiratorially. "Detention isn't any fun, but sometimes we get sent out to the Forbidden Forest with Kettleburn. That can be fun, though you've got to try not to show it... otherwise they might set you to scrubbing out the potions classroom without magic, or something awful like weeding all the beds in the second greenhouse." Aren found himself nodding, her obvious amusement at least a little catching.   
"I'll... keep it in mind. Lucy." 

~*~

The Hufflepuff basement was, coincidentally, not at all far from the kitchens. In fact, it was just off the kitchen corridor and, Aren was rather pleased to discover, required no password. Instead, one had to tap the right barrel in the right order, for the door to be revealed. The simple pattern was quickly memorized, and, as the round door swung inward, revealed a very pleasant-looking space indeed. As they stepped through the door after dinner and, admittedly, a rather long speech by Dumbledore decrying the rising "dark lord" and his followers in light of a few recent disappearances, he found himself in a low, earthy sort of room with many windows, and rather sunny in spite of the darkness outside. 

"The windows are enchanted, just like the ceiling in the Hall," Lucy smirked impishly at him, before skipping off with the other second years to form a ring around the room. They left the floor clear for the House Prefects to come forward and gather the first years into a rough circle.   
"As our Founder declared, may we strive to be hardworking and industrious, patient, and tolerant. Loyal to those we embrace, and defenders against those who wish us harm." They lifted their wands and the other second to seventh years followed quickly. Aren watched as wands were lit with Light charms until the warm, comfortable room was _glowing_ with light and magic.  
"We embrace the Light, as the Light embraces us all!" Magic surged around them, and one girl appeared to have fainted into the arms of a third year who carried her gently down to the floor and got her a pillow. Aren found himself blinking as the light died, afterimages and bright colors dazzling him as he swayed. One of the fourth years caught his hand and smiled down at him.  
"Easy, little guy. The welcome ritual can be a bit hard on the eyes, but you'll come right through after a nice rest tonight. Nothing to worry over, really. C'mon, the Prefects are about to take you to the dormitories."

As the male Prefect came forward and introduced himself, Aren took another look around the common room. Very comfortable looking furniture done up in well-polished hardwoods and yellow damask with black braid, and many poufs decorated the room. Pale wood floors and colorful carpets- in all, it felt like someone's cottage, or the sort of very English home you'd find in the countryside, in some little village. 

As he was led in the direction of their dormitory, Aren got the further impression of brass fixtures, yellow wall hangings and quite a lot of plant life, before he was ushered down the opposite hallway to the girls. The stone in the rounded hallways was the same sort of cream color as the common room, with very nice brass lamps every few yards to keep it pleasantly lit. As the prefect showed the first years to their rooms, Aren was immensely comforted by the sight of bright, cheerful quilts on the large, soft-looking oak four-poster beds. They looked positively squashy with thick feather mattresses you could sink right into and never wish to come out! House penants and posters hung on the walls, alongside copper bedwarmers, to be filled with coals in the case of cold feet or icy sheets. It even boasted its own fireplace against one wall, a luxury he hadn't expected and was grateful to notice. 

"Breakfast starts at seven, classes at eight. I'd set an alarm if I were you, you don't want to be late on your first day." The door swung shut, and Aren was soon preparing to get into bed along with the other three students sharing the room. About fifteen minutes later, they were all drawing the butter-yellow bedcurtains shut around them, and drifting off to sleep in absolute comfort.

~*~

In the Dungeons, Percival was experiencing a rather different sort of welcome. The Prefects; shockingly, Adrian Macmillan of all people; and a girl who looked as though she might have been a Black or a Bulstrode lined up all the first years in ranks in the common room. It was a richly appointed room, if your tastes ran to the dark and gothic, he supposed. Personally, he found the lack of adequate light to read by obnoxious in the extreme. Using a _Lumos_ any time he had homework did not, in any way, seem appealing.   
"First years!" The girl barked, and the first years flinched, or looked bored; depending who had been born into non-magical families. "Tonight, you enter our House. We have built it from the Darkness, we have fueled its light with our Blood. By Magic we live, and by Magic we die." Adrian stepped forward, his wand falling easily from its holster.    
"Balance, in all things. There is no Darkness without Light. There is not Light without Darkness." Both Prefects lifted their wands in tandem, raising them towards the ceiling. The other students, second to seventh years all, raised their wands as well, encircling the first years and finishing the ritual together.  
"By Blood, and Bone, and Breath! The Dark that rides between the Stars is ours.  There before there was Light, and there when the Light fades. The Wild! The Unbound!"

Percival found himself shivering, the acknowledgement that theirs was, indeed, primarily a Dark House shocking in its blatancy.   
_"May we all be unbound!"_

_~*~_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you read, please leave a comment. If you enjoy any of my works, please review. It's a bit like shouting into the void, currently.


	4. Chapter 4

_Outrun The Night: Chapter Four_

 

Aren woke to natural-looking, enchanted dawnlight through the false windows and the bed curtains. The bed had been even more comfortable and encompassing than he'd expected, as though the fluffy feather mattress had been charmed for comfort. Though, he supposed on reflection, it just might have been. Thankfully, he did not have long to sit on the edge of it, rubbing his eyes and trying to tame his hair, before his new roommates were awake and doing the same.

"Hllo... who're you?" A narrow, very blonde boy asked. Aren scratched his short nails through his hair,   
"'M Aren. You?" The blonde yawned and stretched idly, leaning back on the pillows with one arm.   
"Oliver. Smith," he rolled out of bed and onto his feet, stretching again. "Hum. Don't suppose the Prefects will be coming round to fetch us, d'you?" Aren shook his head.  
"Doubt it. Do you think there's a shower anywhere...? I don't know if we're allowed to use magic outside of class." Oliver snorted,  
"Nah. The Trace only applies out of school. As long as we're not dueling in the halls 's probably fine. Probably-" He walked over to the door and tugged it open, looking over his flannel-clad shoulder at Aren. "You comin or not, mate?"

They stumbled upon the rather gymlike bathroom, with its lockers and shower stalls, together. The soaps in the little metal baskets smelled like honey, Aren found, mixed with oats. He scrubbed up contentedly, and learned a new drying spell from another of his classmates, who introduced himself as Fergus. His hair quickly dried down smoother, and straighter, than it had with the old one; that used to leave his hair almost woolly with frizz. 

"Thanks!" Fergus just laughed and shrugged  
"First years, we got to stick together, yea?" the muggleborn ambled off after, tugging at his collar and cursing his tie. Aren hid a smile, and followed close behind, keen on not missing out on breakfast.

~*~

Percival, on the other hand, had not spent such a pleasant night. The memory of the ritual and the strange, silver flash that had come when it was finished had filled Percival with a lingering sort of dread that coiled in his belly and stayed through the night. He had heard of the Houses having their own welcome rituals, but he hadn't quite expected it to be...  _that_. When the alarm spell woke him, he slashed it away with a quick sweep of his wand and threw back the heavy green velvet drapes that enclosed the bed. He'd hardly slept, truth be told, the sight of all those wands lifting in tandem- he shuddered and padded his way quickly into the dormitory's bathroom.

It was early enough that his was the only stall in use, and thank Merlin for that. The hot water soon turned the air hot and humid, steam rising around him as he scoured his hair and body with the plain, unscented soaps that were provided by the school. He wrapped one of the fluffy; if slightly linty; towels around himself and was soon brushing his teeth, drying his hair, and in general preparing for the day. By the time he'd finished, the other first years were stumbling in, looking a sleep-tousled mess. Percival couldn't quite resist a superior smirk as he brushed past them, dressed already in uniform and robes, his hair neatly combed and parted. Looking, for once, more wealthy Pureblood than untidy, rumpled scholar. That bit of confidence that came from preparedness carried him through breakfast, and into his first class: Potions, with the Hufflepuffs.

~*~

Professor Slughorn; and Head of House for Slytherin; was hardly the most attractive of men. He was, Percival decided, nearly ugly if decidedly English in appearance. Small eyes, large nose, and hair that was beginning to grey at the temples and lose its thickness. He filed into the room with the rest of the first years, and took up a stool near the back before pulling out his parchment and a self inking quill. The others filled in where they could he noticed, and not particularly with any indication of familiarity. A boy he recognized from the boats; what was it, something Canid?; motioned to the stool next to him. 

"Would you mind?" Percival's eyes narrowed, taking in the noticeable yellow trim. Well. What harm could it really do?  
"If you like," he moved his bag to the other side of his stool, and moved closer to the wall, offering the 'puff plenty of space. "I just hope it isn't a dull class." A loud clapping from the front of the room drew their attention and Percival straightened instinctively. 

"First years! First years, welcome to Potions!" Slughorn had a broad, engaging smile plastered on his face. Percival wondered if perhaps it wasn't faked. "Now, I know you're all quite eager to begin brewing, but first, you must understand some of the basics! The foundations! One cannot build a proper education without a firm, solid foundation, you know. Not at all. And so, if you'll open your textbooks, we'll begin. Now!" He flicked his wand and a piece of chalk began flying across the blackboard, as the shades on the windows went up. "First, we must understand the basic differences in ingredients. Standard Potioning Water-"

Percival rested his head on his hand, propping his elbow against the table.  _So, the class was slated to be this boring, was it? Well. At least it's only the first day_ \- He felt a gentle prod on his shoulder and started, blinking as the boy next to him winced apologetically.   
"Sorry, it's just. He's asked a question and you looked as though you were a hundred miles away." He turned back to the book, and stood quickly, bracing his hand against the work table. Professor Slughorn looked momentarily impressed.

"Mr. Wolff, your answer, if you would." Percival watched as his partner stood, confident, and recited as though from memory.  
"Aconite is part of a family of toxic plants,  _Aconitum_ , whose most common type is also known as Monkshood or Wolfsbane. It is the principal ingredient in Wolfsbane Potion, that relieves the symptoms of lycanthropy, Professor." He cleared his throat, looking a bit nervous. "It is also a main ingredient in Wideye Potion, which is an antidote to the Draught of Living Death." Slughorn clapped once, and nodded firmly.  
"Precisely correct, Mr Wolff thank you. Ten points to Hufflepuff for a very  **thorough**  answer!" He sat back down, hands shaking a little, and knotted them in his lap. Percival leaned across and nudged him.

"You alright there?" He nodded, briefly.   
"Just nervous as anything. The first girl flubbed an answer about Standard Potioning Water, can you imagine! But then... I've never been particularly good at Potions, you know. Only know anything because I like plants. Helps, if you think about the ingredients instead of the result. Just follow the instructions, yeah? But I can't keep it straight otherwise." He shrugged and looked down at his book. Percival found himself a little surprised, shocked even, that this unassuming Halfblood-at-best wizard had an insight like that.  _Hum... this one bears watching._

"I'm Percival, and you?" The boy smiled, hazel eyes bright in the morning light.  
"Aren."

~*~

At the end of the hour, nothing had been brewed but the entire class had been thoroughly drilled on first year appropriate Potions ingredients, types of cauldrons and their uses, and where certain plants were most easily found. Aren found himself with a headache, grabbing his book and notes and shoving them hastily into his bag.   
"We've Defense next, you?" Aren nodded, tugging the strap over his shoulder and jumping off the stool before the Slytherin could start up a real conversation.   
"Same. I think Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are together for most of this term? Anyrate, we don't have much time." He managed a wry smile and moved down the aisle before before Percival could catch up to him. Just as well, he supposed. The Slytherin wouldn't really want to have a Hufflepuff for a friend; not when they were so concerned about Blood and Heritage and all that rot that came with capital letters and expectations to go along with it. 

Percival watched Aren go, a strange sort of feeling in his chest. The apologetic, nervous boy had rather grown on him in the hour they'd spent at the same table. He was intelligent, if unpracticed, and that sort of intelligence was something to be proud of, not shied away from. He huffed, piling his book and papers into his own bag and followed after, cinching his wand more firmly into its holster as he went. It really  _wouldn't_  do to be late.


	5. Chapter 5

_Outrun The Night: Chapter Five_

 

The next several weeks flew past, with the students settling in to the school and their schedules. Classes on alternating days, with alternate Houses depending upon the day. The second week of October saw Aren sitting in the library, researching a paper for Professor Binns' class on the History of Magic. Aren had had little enough trouble with his housemates and the more accepting students of any House... except for a small group of Slytherins who appeared to be taking after their Fifth Year counterparts with a vengeance. So far, there'd been nothing but some hissed insults in the halls, and elbows or a knock on the way to meals. Aren hadn't quite seen the need to notify anyone, but he was soon to regret the decision.

The young first year was chewing on the end of his quill, properly shaved down so that only a little flag of feather was left at the end. It was this he caught between his teeth every so often as he turned the pages of the four textbooks open before him and consulted the ream of notes that lay in what could only be described as a disorderly mess. He hardly realized when a group of Slytherins came up behind him, and one slid into the chair before him. 

"Well well.... the foreign student, isn't it?" He looked up, hazel eyes narrowing as he met the rather oily smile of one Alexei Harrow. He placed the quill carefully on the table, folding his hands on his lap as he met the insolent stare with one of his own. His hands were shaking, he realized, and he wrapped the fingers around each other to still the tremble.  
"You're foreign yourself, Harrow," he said reasonably. "Alexei is in no way a _British_ name." He raised a brow, eyeing him carefully. "Neither, I'm sure, is _'Harrow._ '" He pretended to think, lifting a hand to his chin and rubbing it thoughtfully; studiously ignoring the way the two Slytherins who'd accompanied the annoying, slithering creature. "Dark hair, wide jaw, long nose, odd name. Well. You're Baltic, aren't you? Some sort of Russian family, is it? Maybe Bulgarian...?" He cast about for an out, but quickly realized if he couldn't talk him down, it would be wands. _Well... you can decide how quickly it ends, or who ends it. Not both. Choose._ He thought desperately, before the words seemed to just fall off his tongue.

"You know, It's any wonder your parents sent you here, Harrow, instead of Durmstrang. I'd have thought we'd be rather playing for the same team, you know." He snorted. "Foreign students, trying to make it in a British school, but here you are. And I'm no more foreign than you are, even if my family DID come over a bit later than yours after Grindelwald tried to take the Continent. Do go away, I'm _studying._ " It was then that Aren made a grave error. Instead of paying attention to the way steam was practically coming out of Harrow's ears, and the hands tightening on the back of his chair, he leaned back, and folded his arms across his chest. "....as _you'd_ be doing, if you were any sort of _intelligent._ " The bluff would cost him.

~*~

Down the aisle from Aren's window-side study table, Percival and Aislinn Vane; a first year Ravenclaw; had been in search of a Potions' textbook for an extra credit assignment. At the sound of Aren's voice, he'd pressed the book insistently into Aislinn's hands and took off in the direction of the argument.

"Wait! Perci-" He came around the corner just in time to see Alexei Harrow lunge across the table at Aren as his two friends shoved Aren forward and the chair from under him. Before he quite knew what was happening, his wand was in his hand and Alexei was itching like mad and cursing blue hell. He was turning his wand on Rosier, who looked ready to stomp Aren into the hardwood floor, when his shoulder was wrenched and he found himself facing Adrian.

"Atherton! Harrow! Rosier, Lestrange!What the _bleeding hell_ do you think you're doing? Wands down, now, all of you!" Percival snarled, and twisted, shaking off Adrian'd grip.  
"This the sort of House you run, Macmillan? Letting yours gang up on other houses? Three on one is hardly a fair fight, Adri-"  
" _He's lying!_ The bastard's _lying_!" Alexei's face was getting redder by the second, his short nails dragging white welts into his skin as he tried to scrub away the itching feeling. "We were only trying to have a little talk with the foreign student, that's all, but he pulled out his wand! He did! Out of class!" He was practically shrieking, but Percival's burning eyes didn't leave Adrian's face. "You should give him detention, Adrian! You should-" He leaned into one of the stacks and ground his back against it, trying to scratch away the burning sensation of Percival's stinging jinx.

"You know very well what sort Harrow is," he hissed. "If you really believe he wouldn't gang up on a Hufflepuff just to do it, you're out of your mind, Macmillan. Make the wrong choice, and I'll be dueling you myself."   
"I should slap you for the insult, Atherton, and for dueling in the library. As it is, you're lucky there's witnesses." He raised his voice, "Ten points from Slytherin for unsanctioned dueling outside a classroom, five points from Hufflepuff for not notifying a Prefect or the Librarian of the issue. Now all of you, _get out of here!_ " He snapped, "There are students actually trying to study." He flicked his wand tersely in Harrow's direction, "Finite Incantatem! Harrow, go to the infirmary and get that taken care of before you injure yourself." He turned on his heel, glaring down at the group of them. "And if I, or Ms Bulstrode see you first years fighting outside of a dueling club again, you'll be serving detentions for the rest of the term." He strode off, finding the Librarian on her way over and explained the situation quietly while the little crowd they'd gathered started to disperse. Percival offered a hand to Aren, pulling him up before Eudora leaned in, her dark eyes blazing with barely suppressed rage.   
"Decide quickly who's side you're on, Atherton. The wrong move will cost you."

~*~

 


	6. Chapter 6

_Outrun The Night: Chapter Six_

 

For the first days after the duel, Percival slide through the halls with paranoia settled around his shoulders like a heavy winter cloak. Hogwarts was very little like he'd imagined. He'd grown up hearing glowing stories from friends of the family; and his own parents; about what sorts of opportunities there were for young wizards in Britain. Even in spite of the rising power of a new Dark Lord hanging over them. But this... strange rituals in the night, duels in the library... this was _not_ what he'd signed up for!  Percival went from Great Hall to classes and back again to the dormitories, keeping out of the way of the older students as much as he could. It was on the third day, on the way to History of Magic, that he found himself staring down another student's wand.

"Well, if it's not little Atherton, defender of mudbloods and halfbreeds." Percival found himself staring up into the face of Evan Rosier, one of the Slytherin Fifth Year students he'd seen whispering about Voldemort in a corner of the common room before curfew. Percival felt his lip curling back, somewhere between a smile and a snarl.   
"Rosier," the dark-haired bowed, a smirk twisting his mouth. Percival's eyes narrowed as he looked for any other stray students. None. They were alone.

"You know, Percy," Rosier drawled, "you shouldn't have done what you did in the library. We did our best to have a civil conversation with Wolff. Explain how halfbloods should behave themselves around here... if they don't want to be lumped in with the Mudbloods and Light-sympathizers. Really, we were doing him a favor." Percival fought the urge to snort, his wand sliding easily into his palm from his holster with a twist of his wrist. He focused on the feel of the smooth wood against his fingers, mind already recalling what they'd learned in Defense these first few weeks of the term. "He's a damned Hufflepuff! The most namby-pamby, baby House in the school. Light addled, all of them. You know that, the Athertons have always leaned Dark, even if you're not Declared," Rosier sneered.   
"Just a civil conversation was it...? Then I suppose you'd be quite alright explain to the Headmaster about it...?" _Protego!_ Percival thought, the shield spell on the tip of his tongue; Rosier's face going dark and angry. _He's going to charge, and there's no one to be harmed if I just bounce his hex off-_

That was all he had time for, before Evan was charging at him, and Percival was throwing up his shields.

~*~

"Stupefy!" The bright red jinx spun towards him and Percival just had the time to duck out of the way and begin linking Protego charms in preparation for the next strike. Rosier laughed, his eyes going a bit mad as he strode after him.   
"Percy, Percy~ You know you won't be able to stop me; little first year like you. I've got four years of spells, and the knowledge of how to use them." A shot of blinding yellow flashed in front of him, and Percival grunted as he hit the wall of the corridor, narrowly missing a painting. "You won't even recognize half of my jinxes, you've got a long way to go... so just take your punishment like a good little boy, and we can forget this ever happened.... if you stop trying to protect the foreigner. He'll bend, Percy. Just like everyone else~" 

The words started to blend together, as Rosier shot off spells and jinxes, laughing every so often as they bounced or shattered Percival's shields, toying with him. Before long, all Percival could concentrate on was the flash of red and blue and gold fire as hex after jinx flew from Rosier's wand. His own wand seemed nearly alive in his grip, finding spells he'd only read about springing to his lips.

" _Haurio!_ " The absorbent shield sprung up around his hand, and he skidded out of the way just as a bright spark of white-blue Percival didn't recognize flew towards him. The glow lit Evan's face in a sinister rictus of insane laughter before it struck his outstretched hand and was swallowed by the shield. Rosier snarled, and snapped off a bright red hex in his direction. Percival had just enough time to register the Stupefy aimed in his direction before he was flipping end over end and the quickly approaching wall.

~*~

Aren had nearly dozed off during Professor Binn's rambling lecture on History of Magic. He wasn't sure how many times one could rehash the Goblin Rebellions; and there had been quite a lot of them, true; but good lord were they boring stuff. He had noticed, though, that a few students were missing. On his way out of the classroom and back in the direction of the Potions classroom, he found Percival Atherton crumpled against the wall. He'd only just registered the large bruise across one cheek and what might have been a broken wrist when Althea Selwyn started screeching behind him for Madam Pomfrey or a Professor. 

~*~

When Percival woke, it was too the dimming red glow of sunset and Aren sitting beside him. He blinked carefully, even that tiny movement causing shooting pains to attack his skull.   
"Bloody hell-" he grumbled, making to touch his jaw. Aren's head snapped up from the Potions tome he was balancing carefully across his lap and leaned over, pressing his arm gently back to the bed.   
"You don't want to be doing that," he smiled apologetically. "Found you in the hall on the way down to Slughorn's. Looked like you'd had some kind of row. The Headmaster's out in the hall, Madam Pomfrey wasn't going to let him in while you were sleeping it off. Broke your wrist you know. Everyone's wondering what happened-" 

Percival winced, Aren's chatter too bright and sharp to be comfortable.   
"D'you think they'd wait for a bit? I think I'd rather like a potion for this headache-" Aren had the grace to blush, and set the book aside.   
"Oh, Pomfrey said you might-" He fumbled around on the bedside table and brought forth a small bottle triumphantly. "It's a pain reliever potion," he explained helpfully. "Pomfrey's already taken care of your wrist, you broke it-" Percival took the potion, none too gently, and swallowed it in one go. It tasted vaguely of fluxweed, dittany and lavender, nothing too unusual. "Oh. Well." 

Percival handed the little bottle back, and sunk back into the pillows with a quiet huff.   
"It was Rosier." Aren turned to look at him, eyes wide. "He cornered me in the corridor on the way to History of Magic, and told me I'd made a mistake, protecting you. Said a lot of rubbish, actually, but I thought you'd like to know. I'd keep away from Slytherin House if I were you, Wolff. No good can come of it." Aren held the bottle to his chest, staring at Percival in shock. 

"Look, I know it's not your fault. New to Britain, new to Hogwarts, new to... all of this," he shrugged, or tried to, and winced; bruises across his shoulders tight and aching even with the potion setting in. "But I'd rather not get a string of detentions for fights I didn't start, or end up getting blasted to pieces over something I don't even understand." He held up a hand when Aren opened his mouth, shaking his head. "Don't. It's all to do with politics and Declarations and who's on what side. People are going missing, Wolff. There's already been a few skirmishes out in Northumberland, and along the coast. It's getting dangerous if you're not 'the right sort.' My family's been Dark, but neither of my parents have Declared one way or the other. I'm going to be forced into making a decision sooner or later, but it's not going to be made out of fear. You should probably start thinking about what choice you'd make, if it comes to that, Wolff." He swallowed, head aching a little less as the potion kicked in. "Send in the Headmaster on your way out, will you? And watch your back, Wolff. They won't be as easy on you, as they were on me."

~*~

Aren found his way back down the mostly-deserted halls to the Hufflepuff dormitories and knocked on the right barrel. For once, the cheery atmosphere of the common room wasn't near homey enough to soothe his growing unease. He stared into the hearth long after the other first years were in bed, mulling over what Percival had told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated. I've been having quite a lot of health issues and have been recently diagnosed with an autoimmune disorder. The medications for it are currently kicking my ass, and my chronic fatigue is becoming a real issue. We're working on figuring out my dose and getting me back on track, but updates will be sporadic at best until that point. Thanks for sticking with me!


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